


Kismet

by DixieDale



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:41:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22882702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Whether you call it 'kismet' or 'fate', sometimes you just can't outrun it.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	Kismet

The staff car came roaring in around 10 am. The men watched with appreciation as a smartly-dressed, very attractive young woman with a briefcase got out and briskly made her way to Klink's office, Schultz almost tripping over his own feet as he hurried to open the door for her.

The coffee pot was immediately put into use, but the conversation was spotty, or maybe it was just the transmission.

"Time to rewire that microphone, Colonel," Kinch commented. "We're not going to get much from it til we do, from the sound of it. Funny, it was okay yesterday."

Hogan agreed. All they were hearing now was faint bits and pieces - "General insists - favorite - impressed - Saturday" with only the tone Klink's voice coming through, sometimes fawning and then protesting, self-congratulatory and back around again.

"She's leaving, Colonel," the lookout called softly.

"Better go see what I can pry out of our beloved Kommandant," Hogan said and he made his way across the compound.

"What was that all about, Schultz," he asked the big man who was standing there, staring open mouthed at the car driving out the gate.

"I know nothing, I see nothing, I hear nothing," Schultz started, then gave an odd little giggle. "But it seems I am GOING to see something, and very soon!" 

Still giggling, Schultz made his way off to continue his rounds, leaving a puzzled Hogan standing there staring after him. Briskly shaking his head, the senior prisoner of war made his way to pry some nuggets of information straight from the horse's mouth.

"You wanted to see me, Kommandant?" Hogan said, striding confidently into Klink's office. There was the oddest look on Klink's face, not entirely caused by Hogan's showing up without being sent for. Yes, he was GOING to send for Hogan, but had intending to down a glass, maybe two glasses of schnapps first.

"No - yes - oh, come in, Colonel Hogan! Yes, I needed to see you. It would appear your men have an admirer, someone who heard them sing at that unfortunate event in town. THAT admirer mentioned their 'talent', their 'stage presence' to someone else and - well, you know how that goes."

Hogan wanted to reach out and clap Klink upside the head. {"Come on, Klink! Get to the point!"} he thought impatiently. 

He'd just spotted the toy pistol sitting on the side of Klink's desk, and glancing at the picture where the microphone was concealed, he did a double-take, suppressing a groan at the sight. Yes, the rubber suction cup of that toy dart was now covering three quarters of the microphone! THAT was what had caused the faulty transmission, not bad wiring! 

Klink crossed over to the cabinet where the schnapps bottle sat next to the glasses and poured himself a drink. Hogan took advantage of his turned-back to quickly remove the dart and drop it next to the toy pistol.

Glancing back at the waiting senior prisoner of war, Klink sighed and poured out a second glass. {"We are BOTH going to need a drink for this!"}

Hogan returned from Kommandant Klink's office still shaking his head over the unbelievable order he'd just been given. Of all the weird things they'd done in this war, this was in the top ten. Well, as he took another incredulous look at the bound script in his hand, maybe the top twenty. They HAD done some pretty weird stuff, after all!

This was not going to go over well, he knew that. Still, when needs must, and all that. And for this specific need, he knew just who 'must'. Not without a lot of yelling and complaining and probably whining and pouting, but there was only one man who could pull this off, and by damned, he WAS going to pull it off or Hogan was going to know the reason why!!! And to Hogan's mind, there WAS NO ACCEPTABLE REASON WHY!! Newkirk was just going to have to suck it up and take one for the team!

It started off pretty well, a friendly little drink in Hogan's quarters, Hogan drawing Newkirk out with a flattering comment about his experiences on the theatre stage as a magician. Then, a slight segue into the theatre in general, just some general conversation, then getting into more specifics, a few casual questions, some just as casual answers.

Til that script was handed over with a satisfied smile and a brisk and happy "Show Time is next Saturday evening for the camp and our special guest, General Laudermarck. Make it a doozy! Let me know what you'll need," and the light bulb went on. Newkirk wasn't sure who he wanted to land a facer, Hogan for setting him up, or himself for being way too chatty and LETTING himself be set up! Hell, even giving Hogan more ammunition!

Then it got a little tense, if only on one side.

"No bloody way, beggin' your pardon, Colonel!" 

There was nothing faintly apologetic about that firm refusal, just in case you were wondering. I doubt you were, but just in case . . .

Hogan was still going with charm, at least for now. He had a smile on his face that would have soothed the most angry of beasts, drawn an answering smile from the most reluctant of young (and not-so-young) matrons. He had the feeling it wasn't having the desired effect, so he tried again, this time with gentle persuasion mixed into the charm. He ALSO had a feeling he was going to eventually get down to a direct order combined with a few outright threats to convince the Englishman.

"What's the problem, Newkirk? You said you were familiar with the production, had even heard the new music that was going to be added in next go around! So, it's ideal! It will make the whole thing even more impressive. This General Laudermarck, he's got this real thing for Edward Knoblauch. No matter Knoblauch is an American, well, he was, before he became a British subject, Laudermarck considers him German since his parents were. Says his grandfather was some hot-shot German architect even, was friends with Laudermarck's grandfather. Laudermarck thinks Knoblauch is a literary genius."

"Again, that's all well and good, sir, though 'aving seen a goodly number of w'at 'e put out, working as an usher or sweep-up boy while the plays were going on, I'm not sure 'literary genius' is w'at I'd be calling some of that pap. Though I 'ave to admit 'is adaptation of 'Grand 'otel' was alright.

"But the one 'e wants? W'at you're talking about us putting on? 'Kismet'??!! Cor blimey, gov, give me a flippin break! Look around you, sir! You see a bevy of dancing girls in filmy little draperies ready to do their bit for teasing up the audience??! W'ere are you 'iding those three 'exotic princesses', eh? And as for the rest, well, I guess I could see my way to 'andle the part of the trickster father, but who you gonna get for the not-overly-bright, still wet-be'ind-the-ears Caliph? Then there's that dreamy-eyed little ditz, Marsinah, eh? Or that slinky bit of sex on the 'oof, Lalume? Can't go forgetting that bit of whimsey, now! Think Marya might be interested in paying a little visit, do you?"

Hogan smiled an evil smile, threw his arm around Newkirk's shoulders and chucked, "well, here's how I see it . . ."

The shout was heard all the way out into the compound where it got the attention of Schultz and the rest of the crew from Barracks 2.

"NO - BLEEDIN' - WAY! NO! AIN'T GONNA 'APPEN! Just shoot me now and 'ave done with it, Colonel, cause I'm telling you flat out . . .!!!!"

So, as it was being plainly written out on that lovely little playbill being printed so carefully and distributed to all and sundry, next Saturday night, in the Rec Hall, in honor of that 'Special Honored Guest, General Laudermarck' the 'Ensemble Players of Stalag 13' were presenting 'Kismet - The Musical'.

The guards got away with their snickering and laughs, their taunts of the major players. The other prisoners? Any who tried it got dragooned into playing a part or working on backdrops or whatever was needed. If they got really disruptive, they found themselves being measured for a dancing girl costume.

Colonel Hogan figured somehow he could make this pay off, big time, and he wasn't going to have anyone putting a spoke in his wheel, or needling one of the star performers into starting a fist fight in response and ending up with a black eye or broken nose. Their 'leading ladies' performing with a split lip?? No sirree, not going to happen!

"So, HOW many songs are there, Newkirk?" Kinch asked, puzzling over the script the German general had somehow gotten his hands on, in English even! A dozen men had been put to making multiple copies to be used by the performers, and some of the comments written in the margins were hysterical! 

Too bad Hogan had caught on and put Kinch and LeBeau to work erasing those comments; in some cases those additions were a heck of a lot better than the actual lines of the play, if a little more pungent. 

Still, Kinch could see his point. It was really hard rehearsing when you kept breaking up laughing at some of those sidebars, or when an indignant Newkirk erupted, wanting to know "who the bloody 'ell wrote that??? I find out, 'e's gonna feel my boot up 'is arse!" and other less friendly threats. 

Well, let's just say the Englishman had not been favorably impressed by the various suggestions of how he could improve what was intended to be a very moving love scene. His red-faced fuming had been funny as hell, the others thought, along with his snarled, "it's a love scene, you wankers, not some bloody porn flick!" 

"'Ow many songs? Too bloody many, that's 'ow many, Kinch old man!" Newkirk snorted as he wearily reached for yet another cigarette. He'd stopped keeping track of his nicotine consumption over the past couple of days. It was either smoke or grind his teeth, and the others were starting to complain about that sound. "Well more than a dozen, as I remember. Bloody over the top, too, a good 'alf of them."

Newkirk was feeling decidedly gloomy and overworked. He'd been minding his own business, after all, planning a nice friendly game of cutthroat poker with the guards, maybe a little petty larceny, maybe rummaging through Klink's safe just to keep in practice, when that German general with delusions of being a theatrical 'angel' had upset his entire day. Hell, his entire WEEK!

Suddenly he wasn't running a poker game, he was casting and directing a play, one of the sillier ones he'd ever seen. AND managing the 'wardrobe department' of the production, of course. Along with playing a leading character! Most production managers had months to pull something like this together; most actors had lots of time to learn the lines and rehearse. HE'D been given six days for the whole bloody thing!

Not only that, he was having to drag out of his memory all the songs that went with it; he now was sorely regretting Caeide's younger sister Meghada ever having shared those with him and Maude and Marisol!! Oh, it had been fun at the time, especially since Meghada didn't take any of it too seriously, but now? 

This was one of those times when he sincerely regretted his quite excellent memory for such things! And he cursed himself for letting it slip to Hogan that he'd even heard the songs that were intended to go with the play, once the one doing the adapting got around to putting it all together. {"Might 'ave already done the job for all I know, been a few years now. Not like we get the 'Theatrical Review' around 'ere."}. No, if he could have a do-over moment or ten or a hundred, one of those on the list would certainly be that bit in Hogan's office at the close of which he was handed the script by the officer with that deceitful smile! 

One thing for sure, he sure as hell wasn't going to mention to Hogan who'd written most of those songs, and with any luck at all, the question would never even come up. The O'Donnell sisters were one huge festering boil of a sore spot where Hogan was concerned, after all. No, he'd lay it all on that uncle of hers, Neal Hargroves; no way Hogan would know about THAT connection.

Now, Newkirk was having to remember and write down all the words to those songs, and the dying duck expressions that went with some of them, and sing the songs as best he could remember too, since he didn't know how to write down all those notes. Well, most here couldn't read music, so it was the only way. Jonesy, over in Barracks 6, he managed the music for the Glee Club, so he wrote it all down on those lines in those funny notes, and was getting that end sorted out. Newkirk admitted the final versions weren't nearly as operatic as when Meghada had sung them, but then that was probably best. It wouldn't do for anyone to get a hernia reaching for those top notes! He remembered Maudie had been fearful that her bar glasses wouldn't withstand a second performance when Meghada really got going!

Those songs! Newkirk cringed every time he thought about the whole lot.

Oh, some weren't so bad, though he'd just mentally erased the existence of that 'Night of My Nights', thankfully, knowing the response it was likely to get from some of the wags. No bloody way was THAT going into the pot. The rest? Some were just a little silly, like that 'Gesticulate', or 'Was I Wazir'; some clearly thought too much of themselves, like 'The Olive Tree' or 'Sands of Time'. But some of them? Sheer over-the-top calf-eyed romantic drivel, that's what some of them were! 

And the worst part of the whole bloody thing??!

According to Hogan, HE, Corporal Peter Newkirk, would be the one singing some of that last lot! He'd never live it down - if he managed to live through it, that is!!! 

Kinch got saddled with the part of Hajj, since he actually had the rich deep voice for it. As for the rest? Colin Olsen was cast as Lalume, the Wazir's seductive and beautiful wife, over his urgent but ineffective protests. Andrew Carter was to be Marsinah, Hajj's beautiful and innocent daughter, and yes, the twit even seemed to be thrilled and excited at the idea, if you could believe it! Newkirk certainly couldn't!!

And, yes, you guessed it, Peter Newkirk was center stage, shining in all his glory as the handsome and, in Newkirk's opinion, not-too-bright Caliph. 

Oh, there were others, certainly, including a 'bevy of dancing girls and three beautiful exotic princesses', otherwise known as the Glee Club of Stalag 13, along with assorted reluctant others. The ones who played instruments were exempted, since they were providing the music, of course. Sergeant Wilson drew the part of the Wazir, luckily not a singing role considering his voice, and LeBeau the part of the Caliph's advisor.

"I don't get it. Why are we facing in opposite directions? Aren't we supposed to be singing to each other?" Andrew asked, perplexed, glancing at the script, the lyrics to the current song paperclipped on top. Trying to keep track of the story, remember the words and tune to the songs and trying to make his voice handle both of those without squeeking, managing his costume with its long draping skirt, keeping track of all the stage action, where he was supposed to be standing, looking, all that was hard enough. Trying to adjust to the novel and unsettling experience of singing love duets with Newkirk - that was really straining him to the max. 

Not that he wasn't having the time of his life, cause he really was, but Newkirk, well, he was real distracting! Looking into those blue-green eyes, listening to that voice, Andrew just felt himself drifting away, maybe melting away, and his next line just vanished into the fog. He'd find himself being prompted, patiently if by Kinch, most IMpatiently if by Newkirk, usually with a "yes, I know it's bleedin' silly, Andrew, but can we just get on with it??!"

Newkirk sighed, explaining one more time.

"Not in this one, Carter. That was the other one, that 'Stranger in Paradise' nonsense. This one, Marsinah and the Caliph, they're just thinking about each other, staring off to the moon, all dreamy-eyed, like LeBeau when 'e's thinking about all that Frenchy cooking of 'is, or maybe thinking about Marya - but they're not in the same place. 

"See, she's over there with 'er father, that's Kinch over there, explaining about this bloke she met for like ten minutes and fell madly in love with, dim little chit that she is. 'Er da likely thinks she's GONE mad, acourse, cause, who wouldn't?? But 'e seems to be 'umoring her for some reason. Probably thinking the sooner 'e gets 'er married off, the better, before she finds 'erself in the pudding club by some 'angelic' lay-about she met by accident in some garden she probably shouldn't a been in in the first place.

"The Caliph, 'E's off mooning over this girl, telling this old geezer all about 'er in return. Got 'is bloody choice of any female in the palace, the whole city, most like, mind you, but no, 'E 'as to take up with some feather-brained female out wandering the streets by 'erself and trespassing in private gardens. 

"Shows she's about as bright as 'E is, though, so they just might make a good match of it, come to think. Probably sing to each other at every meal, 'pass the salt, my own true love' being answered by 'w'at need 'ave you or I of salt to flavor our meal when we can feast on our love?' Coo!"

And Kinch sat on his bunk, smoking, trying not to laugh at that look of disgust on Newkirk's face, as Newkirk and Carter faced opposite corners of the room, stared with vacuous faces at the ceiling, and the admittedly over-the-top words to that song, 'And This Is My Beloved', rang the rafters. 

He wasn't as successful at keeping back his chuckles as he'd been before, probably due to self-control fatigue, if there was such a thing. 

Well, he'd been through the wringer already. Somehow, though it had NOT been easy, he'd managed to keep a straight face earlier when the unlikely duo tried a fifth go at 'Stranger in Paradise'. 

For some reason, during the last part, when they were supposed to be standing there, gazing into each other's eyes like a pair of love-sick teenagers, they kept losing track of the words or the music, and it all turned into a mess. Took til the sixth try before they made it all the way through, mostly because Newkirk was desperately looking over Carter's shoulder, and Carter had his eyes shut as tight as they would go. Kinch could only hope show night would go more smoothly. 

"So, London says they would be more than happy to have General Laudermarck taken out of the picture. They aren't asking us to grab him, figures that's too much to ask, could put the operation at risk, seeing how well-known he is. But we're at least to set him up so Berlin writes him out of the picture. We're to make it happen."

Well, that wasn't what Hogan had had in mind originally, but okay, orders were orders. 

And the last piece of information London had provided? That was the key. Somehow he didn't think Berlin would be all that thrilled at just how devoted Laudermarck was to the work of Edward Knoblauch. American - British - yes, but possibly, probably also Jewish. If there was anything likely to dim Laudermarck's star, probably causing it to go supernova in a hurry, that would do it. 

Tuesday - every one had their parts and were frantically trying to memorize them. The 'orchestra' was making noises in the rec hall that might or might not be considered music. LeBeau was making a list of what he needed, since Kommandant Klink had decided it would impress the General if light refreshments were provided; Klink even offered to send LeBeau into town with Schultz to pick out what he needed. Hogan was going to use that opportunity to make an exchange of goods with the local Underground contact. 

Wednesday - Newkirk had gotten his own trip into town, to the housegoods store for fabric and other essentials, transportation and funds courtesy of Kommandant Klink. Well, actually, courtesy of General Laudermarck's secretary, who'd left an envelope "for what might be needed". 

Thursday - a rehearsal of the songs WITH the orchestra, trying to mesh words and music together for the first time. Actually, the orchestra was coming along nicely, everyone had to admit. Later there was a costume fitting, where an impatient Newkirk explained to Baxter that "you either shave that thing off your upper lip, or you wear one of them veils; them's your only choices, mate! Just be bloody grateful I put the costumes together so that you don't 'ave to shave your bloody legs!!!"

Friday - a full dress rehearsal, at which everything that could go wrong DID, though Newkirk assured everyone that, from what he'd ever heard from his friends in the theatre, that was a GOOD thing. 

"Make all the mistakes now, get them outta your system. Supposed to mean tomorrow will go just fine," he'd said with a confident smile.

Andrew whispered to him as they all disbanded, "you really believe that, about a bad rehearsal meaning a good performance?" Well, Andrew HAD mucked things up in just about every way possible, including going off dreamy again during that duet.

Newkirk snorted, "not likely, but w'at was I supposed to tell them? 'It's a loss, mates, best just give it up for a bad cause'? Ain't like the Colonel's going to go along with THAT, now is it?"

Saturday - ah, Saturday! What could be said about Saturday? The General arrived with his pretty secretary, was made welcome by a fawning Kommandant Klink, and brought over to the rec hall at the appointed time. 

LeBeau had done his usual superb job on the refreshments, there was some polite mingling, and then the lights dimmed, once, twice, and everyone took their seats.

The orchestra hit amazingly few bad notes, and the music had a grandeur far greater than you'd imagine considering the odd assortment of instruments doing the playing.

The set backdrops were colorful, at least, and the costumes either revealed or hid depending on what was required.

Kinch first amused the audience with his fast patter in 'Gesticulate', and drew laughs with 'Rahadlakum', and absolutely stunned with his 'Sands of Time'.

Olsen managed to give a startlingly effective portrayal of 'Lalume as played by Marya the White Russian', gaining even the approval of LeBeau, Marya's most ardent admirer.

Newkirk took his revenge for his week-long misery by ignoring the script's description of the Caliph - romantic and dream-worthy. No, ignoring the startled looks and even a pained wince or two, he managed to put a rather clue-less expression on his face, one that was expertly copied from a certain blond Cockney of his acquaintance, mixed with what he could remember from that dying-duck expression Meghada had used when she'd sung a couple of the songs. All in all, he came across pretty much like HE viewed the character - young, dumb, already in over his head, just bound to step in it sooner or later, probably by getting leg-shackled to someone even dumber than HE was. 

But the star, the one who stole the show with his performance? Ah, that was Andrew Carter, who gave such a graceful, lovely and moving rendition of an innocent, dreamy-eyed young woman falling so swiftly and surely into love-everlasting with a mysterious stranger, that it was a shock at curtain call to be reminded that this really WAS their own klutzy, slightly-dopy explosives expert. 

Of course, his tripping over one of the props, only being prevented from falling flat on his face by a swift move by the Caliph, ie Peter Newkirk, was a sure reminder. Newkirk quickly made that fall into a part of the play by romantically sweeping the 'swooning sweet Marsinah' up into his arms and carrying her off into the wings to the sound of applause.

Of course, that was offset somewhat by the crisp, even annoyed voice that drifted back, though luckily only to those still on stage, not the audience.

"Bloody 'ell, Andrew! You are the clumsiest git I've ever known. Hop down now; ain't gonna carry you all the way back to the barracks, you know!"

LeBeau peeked through the side curtains and shook his head in amusement. Yes, Carter was playing this for all it was worth, arms still wrapped around Newkirk's shoulders, resting easy in those strong arms, cocking his head to one side winsomely, in full 'Marsinah' mode, and softly singing "so open your angel arms, to this stranger in paradise. And tell me that I need be, a stranger no more." LeBeau wasn't sure, but he thought maybe Carter had finished up by delivering a quick teasing kiss to Newkirk's ear.

Newkirk answered that by rapidly dropping the richly clad 'Marsinah' flat on her tush. "Bloody 'ell, Andrew! Don't DO that!" 

"Aw, Peter, you're so cute when you blush!" an utterly unrepentent Andrew Carter said, scrambling to his feet with a wide and wicked grin, before dashing off, a blustering Newkirk close behind.

The amused communication from the Berlin Underground a week later was a surprise, yes, but not an unwelcome one.

"It is not every day a German General seeks to defect, but who are we to turn him away, eh? No, you need not be involved, Papa Bear. There was another unit here doing a little job. We have placed him and his secretary in their hands and he is already on his way to London. I am sure Lieutenant Garrison and his men will get the General there safely."

**Author's Note:**

> Of course, most if not all of the songs from the 1955 production are available online, utube or otherwise.
> 
> Before anyone protests the disparaging remarks made about the movie 'Kismet', I admit I loved both versions, the 1944 one (with Ronald Coleman, Marlene Dietrich, Joy Page and James Craig) AND the lavish 1955 production (with Howard Keel, Ann Blyth, Dolores Gray and Vic Damone). I just can't see Newkirk being thrilled to be part of it all, especially under the circumstances. At least, not that he would ever admit.
> 
> References: HH Episode 'The Safecracker Suite' where Hogan's men give an impromptu performance to hide the activities of Alfie The Artiste


End file.
